


the sound

by inamorromani



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alcohol Mentions, M/M, another one of izzys new york city fics, im an idiot and this took me so long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22593286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inamorromani/pseuds/inamorromani
Summary: “He’s going to act like an ass either way. I’d rather he do it with somebody like you.”
Relationships: Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto
Comments: 33
Kudos: 301





	the sound

**Author's Note:**

> for gayzuko on tumblr!!!!!!

“Given that you’re the fucking devil incarnate,” Sasuke says baldly, “It makes sense that you keep the kitchen so goddamned hot.” 

He barely has a second to react before a wooden spoon comes sailing at him through the air. He narrowly dodges it, and it smacks against the clipboard hung on the wall by the kitchen entrance, sending it clattering to the floor. Hashirama yelps. 

“Watch your language,” Madara snaps, circling around the kitchen island where Shisui stands shock-still. He backs Sasuke up a step or two into the corner of the kitchen entrance, and his dark eyes are so bloodshot that they have an almost purplish tint to them. Sasuke folds his arms across his chest defiantly. Madara’s breath comes in furiously hot bursts against his forehead, his normally handsome features pinched in a scowl. 

Sasuke thinks distantly that his life feels a little bit like a soap opera. There’s always some impending confrontation about the way he folds his prayer mat, how he’s fattening up the cats, how he isn’t invested enough in his studies, his community, his family; there’s always something being thrown at his head, always Hashirama running for cover like it wasn’t his decision to marry Madara and undertake the burden of dealing with the Uchiha family, always Shisui and Itachi and Obito trying to stay pointedly out of things lest they incur Madara’s wrath themselves. 

It’s not that Madara is unkind- truth be told, he’s easily the most accommodating and compassionate member of their family- but Sasuke seems to have a unique knack for inciting his temper. Madara will always say, apologetically and earnestly, that it’s because he reminds him so much of Izuna. Sasuke always kisses his cheek when he mentions Izuna, because if he doesn’t the grief starts rolling off Madara in waves. 

The restaurant is beautiful- immaculately clean and well-reviewed; people call it ‘authentic’, say it has a ‘welcoming’ atmosphere and ‘charismatic’ staff. At the end of the day, Sasuke loves it, and he loves his family, but Madara is nothing if not infuriating. He’s passionate, hostile; sharper than anybody really gives him credit for, and though he has far more important things to worry about than Sasuke going out on the weekends, he still worries. He worries intensely, and sometimes Sasuke doesn’t blame him.

Sometimes he does. 

“Tell me how I’m supposed to react when you come home in the middle of the night half-dressed and piss-drunk,” Madara says bitterly, “Because clearly putting an alarm on the door makes me the fucking devil incarnate.” 

“You’re not my father,” Sasuke says flatly, “Stop acting like my father. I can take care of myself.”

Before Madara can snap at him again, Hashirama steps between them and presses on his chest, forcing him to take at least a small step back. Madara bristles a little. He stares daggers at his husband. 

“Can we  _ please  _ deal with this later?” Hashirama tries, clearly exasperated, “You two always fight when Sasuke’s supposed to be working. This isn’t productive.” 

“It isn’t,” Itachi interrupts. Madara whirls around. 

“Nobody asked you.” 

Itachi rolls his eyes. Madara turns back to Sasuke, pushing against Hashirama’s outstretched hand a bit. 

“You should be grateful that I only want what’s best for you,” Madara mutters, “Your father would have put you out on the streets by-” 

“There’s  _ fifteen  _ minutes until close,” Hashirama says, despairing, “Can we please make it through the next fifteen minutes without the two of you fighting a cage match?” 

“You have the patience of a saint,” Sasuke tells Hashirama, “I don’t know how you tolerate his bullshit, let alone love him.” 

Madara scrambles to take his shoe off and Hashirama grips his shoulders, forcing him to take another step back. Sasuke hears Shisui and Obito snicker. He disappears through the kitchen door. 

There’s still a handful of tables that haven’t been cleared yet, two regulars nursing their last coffees on either side of the dining room. He figures if he focuses hard enough on cleaning the tables, he won’t be able to hear the muted commotion coming from the kitchen, and so he snatches a spray bottle and a tattered rag from the small shelf by the door and sets to work. 

He’s fixated on a particularly oily smudge of hummus painted along the edge of one of the leather booths when the bell at the front door rings. He stifles a groan, waiting about five painstakingly short seconds for Hashirama to come scurrying out of the kitchen to the host stand, to apologize profusely and say they’re closed- but he doesn’t. 

Sasuke slings the rag over his shoulder and sighs, crossing the dining room to the front door with his arms folded across his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” Sasuke says even before he’s reached the front door, “But we’re closed for the night.” 

“No-” 

Sasuke looks up, his face set in an indignant scowl, and-

“Oh,” he says softly, suddenly all too aware of himself. There’s a boy about his age standing with a triumphant smile on his face, his tightly coiled, bleached-blonde hair drip-drying onto his gaudy orange and blue windbreaker. His eyes are dazzlingly bright, his skin a deep, honey color, marked with henna on his cheeks and hands. 

He’s beautiful. He looks strangely familiar. 

“It says online- and on the door- that you’re open until ten tonight.” 

Sasuke blinks at him. “I guess it does.” 

The boy suddenly looks a little embarrassed. His pretty smile falters. 

“Sorry,” he says quickly, “Sorry, no, I got kind of carried away. I’d heard- I’d heard good things about your coffee. I can come back tomorrow.” 

“No,” Sasuke says quickly, unthinkingly, “No, no, I can get you a coffee. I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”

Besides- so long as he’s on the floor or with a customer, Madara will leave him alone. 

The boy’s smile returns, dazzling and bright and apologetic. “You’re fine. I don’t suppose it’s very polite of me to come in ten minutes before close and demand to be served.” 

“Please,” Sasuke scoffs, “It wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to me. I have ulterior motives for serving you this late, anyways.” 

“Hmm,” the boy gives him a once over and grins, “Because you think I’m just that unbelievably handsome?” 

Sasuke rolls his eyes and turns on his heel, gesturing for the boy to follow him. 

“My name is Sasuke, and I’ll be your server this evening.” 

“Oh, shit,” the boy says suddenly, stopping in his tracks, “Sasuke like Sakura’s friend? Sasuke like, pharmacology major?”

Sasuke looks over his shoulder and raises an eyebrow. “You know Sakura?” 

“We had chemistry together,” the boy says, smiling sheepishly, “Last semester. That’s crazy, she was always telling me that she thought the two of us would get along really well, but I mean- we weren’t that close, so she never really introduced me to you-” 

“You’re Naruto,” Sasuke says, stopping at the nearest table and pulling out a chair for him, “I thought you looked familiar. Sakura showed me your picture a couple times.” 

Naruto smiles and sits down, dragging a hand through his limp curls and straightening his windbreaker. There’s a reflective strip on it that catches the light from the overhead fixture, and Sasuke’s eye twitches. It’s a hideous windbreaker- it really is- but somehow, it flatters him. “So you do think I’m handsome.” 

“...I think we have a pot of Turkish coffee that’s still hot,” Sasuke says, pointedly dodging the question, “But you know, I don’t really consider Turkey a part of the Middle East, so I’m not sure why we serve it.” 

“Do you think North Africa is part of the Middle East?” Naruto asks, smiling suggestively and resting his chin in his hands, “Sakura told me that you’re North African- but this is a Middle Eastern restaurant.” 

Sasuke scoffs. “I don’t know where she gets off.”

“Hey, I’m trying to have a nuanced political conversation with you.” 

“I don’t know why,” Sasuke says, crossing his arms, “If you were so interested in getting to know me, wouldn’t you want to have a nuanced pharmacological conversation with me instead?” 

“Sure. I take Benadryl to sleep sometimes, and when I take more than usual I see spiders everywhere. Is that normal?” 

Naruto is smiling up at him earnestly, like he really couldn’t wait to meet him and wasn’t just trying to charm his way into a cup of coffee after-hours. He’s beautiful- Sasuke has no problem admitting that- so beautiful, in fact, that he forgets where he is, if only for a second. It’s a pleasant sort of forgetting. 

  
  


He comes back with Naruto’s coffee after a minute- it’s lukewarm, sloshed over the rim and stained the white ceramic of the mug a rich brown in patches, but it’s good coffee. Shisui had promised him that, laid his hands over Sasuke’s apologetically. 

“You’re alright?” he’d asked, his eyes bright and round and genuine. 

“I’m always alright,” Sasuke promised, “We’re always alright. I shouldn’t antagonize him.” 

“You shouldn’t,” Itachi interrupted. Shisui shushed him. 

“We love you,” Shisui says sternly, “Madara loves you too, even though he’s a jackass about it sometimes.”

“If you love me so much, make Obito finish cleaning the dining room. He hasn’t done anything but sit around all day.” 

Obito hadn’t protested. He comes out of the kitchen on Sasuke’s heels, grumbling to himself. 

Sasuke sets Naruto’s coffee down carefully, and then slides into the seat across from him. “All of the saucers are in the dishwasher,” he says apologetically, “Please don’t take a star off of our Yelp review.” 

Naruto laughs, and Sasuke covers his mouth with his hand to hide his smile. He hikes his knees up to his chest so he’s practically perching on the edge of the chair, looking past Naruto and out the window at the city. It never seems to get quieter- but it never seems to get louder either. It stays at a sort of infuriating equilibrium, a backdrop to everything else in his life. Naruto is looking at him over the rim of his mug, and Sasuke drops his eyes. 

“You go out a lot, don’t you?” Naruto asks, wiping coffee from his top lip with his thumb. Sasuke raises an eyebrow at him. 

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” he lies, resting his cheek against his knee and looking past him again.

“Out,” Naruto repeats, gesturing vaguely, “You know, like,  _ out  _ out. To parties and stuff. Sakura told me you did. I feel like I’ve seen you out before.” 

“I like wearing disguises,” Sasuke says baldly, “Lots of makeup. Flashy clothes. You’ve probably seen me, but I won’t confirm or deny anything.” 

“You’re very cryptic,” Naruto says with a smile, “I like that.” He takes another sip of his coffee and hums appreciatively, cradling the mug in his hands and swirling it thoughtfully. Sasuke watches him from the corner of his eye, dropping one leg from the edge of the chair and stretching it forward. Obito passes behind him to clean the last two tables in the dining room, humming along to his music, oblivious to the world around him. Naruto looks up, his eyes glittering wickedly. 

“That’s one of your cousins?” 

“Obito,” Sasuke answers, “Yeah. How’d you figure?” 

“You all look alike,” Naruto says, scratching his chin. Sasuke watches a bead of rainwater run down the crook of his neck and disappear down the collar of his windbreaker. “Plus I read this was a family-owned business.” 

“Your powers of deduction amaze me.” 

“They should,” Naruto says playfully, “I’m quite the force to be reckoned with. This is good coffee.” 

Sasuke hums. He spares another glance over his shoulder before leaning forward and propping his chin up, grazing Naruto’s leg with his own. Naruto stiffens immediately, pausing with his mug halfway to his lips. Sasuke notes that his eyes look beautiful open so wide, ocean-blue and questioning. 

“Hey,” Sasuke says quietly. He hears the kitchen door close behind Obito. Naruto blinks at him, clearly a bit dazed. 

“Hey.” 

“Are you going out this weekend?” 

“I-” Naruto wrinkles his nose and sets his coffee down, nudging Sasuke’s leg with his knee. Sasuke doesn’t move. “Uh. Yeah. My friend Shikamaru is throwing a party, but it’ll probably be pretty small.” 

“So not a banger,” Sasuke says dully. 

“No,” Naruto says with a nervous laugh, “No, no, not a banger. Why do you ask?” 

“Just curious,” Sasuke says, “Where does your friend live?” 

“Park Slope,” Naruto says eagerly, “Off of Lincoln. Do you- do you want his address? I don’t think he’d mind if I brought you.”

Sasuke smiles. He’d purr if he could. Make one of Madara’s lectures worth it for once. 

In the end, he decides to crawl out of Obito’s window because it’s the closest to the ground- and because Obito sleeps like the dead. He sidesteps a bong held together with duct tape and a discarded body pillow and pops the screen, slipping easily out the window. He hangs by the edge for a few seconds, trying to minimize the distance from the window to the ground, and then drops tactlessly onto the sidewalk. 

His earrings make a noise like coins clattering together, and he exhales sharply, holding his breath for a second just in case he’d woken Obito- not that his cousin would do anything, anyways. When he’s decided the coast is clear, he checks his pocket for his phone, his house key, his train pass.

With his affairs in order, he starts down the sidewalk. 

Naruto is waiting at the top of the stairs at the nearest train station, his hair in neat, tight coils and pushed back loosely from his face. He’s wearing a turtleneck and a chain, olive colored khakis, sneakers that Sasuke might affectionately identify as “dad shoes”- and a gaudy terrycloth headband, no doubt from one of the many vintage shops that had been popping up around the city like hives. He’s smiling up at Sasuke, backlit by the white-yellow lights from the station, a beacon of brightness against the rusty, greenish metal banisters and wire panels that frame him on all sides. 

“Shit,” Naruto says, his mouth falling open a bit. Somebody pushes past him, coming up on the wrong side of the stairs. Naruto stumbles a bit, but his smile doesn’t falter at all. 

Sasuke raises an eyebrow at him. Naruto clears his throat nervously, and then offers him his hand. 

“You look really beautiful,” he says simply, “Your eyeshadow is like- like, really red.” 

“Is that the best you can do?” Sasuke asks, taking his hand and pulling him down the stairs. He looks over his shoulder, reveling in Naruto’s bewildered expression. 

They practically tumble down the stairs to the station, Naruto missing every few steps and then pausing to laugh. Sasuke lets him, jerking to a stop and basking in the brightness of the sound. 

“Enjoy my company while you can,” Sasuke says, stumbling to a halt at the platform, “My uncle’s going to lock me away in a tower like an ailing princess until I turn twenty five.” 

Naruto snorts. 

“You’re an adult. He can’t tell you what to do.” 

“Clearly you’re not muslim.” 

“Astute observation,” Naruto says, grinning ear-to-ear, “I’m jewish. Not ethnically. I went to Hebrew school and everything.” 

Sasuke whistles. Down the tunnel, he can hear the familiar roar of the train. “You think you know a guy. Next thing you know, you’ll be telling me you’re not a natural blonde.” 

Naruto just laughs again, and squeezes his hand. Sasuke holds on tight. 

Whether he ends up blacking out or greening out, Sasuke can’t really be sure. All he knows is that when he comes too, he’s slumped against Naruto’s chest in the bathroom of his friend’s brownstone, his temples throbbing and his makeup in broad, sweeping lines across the side of his face. 

Naruto is almost oppressively warm, but his breathing is slow and steady and his heartbeat is strong beneath his cheek, drowning out the thrum of music in the living room. Sasuke closes his eyes again, and Naruto cards a hand through his hair. 

“Hey,” Naruto murmurs, shifting slightly so Sasuke is reclining on his side against his chest, “Sasuke, hey.” 

Sasuke hums in response, slipping his hands beneath the hem of Naruto’s shirt and splaying his fingers across his stomach. Naruto twitches. Sasuke’s hands pass over a raised coil of scar tissue, over a line of coarse hair and the cool steel of his belt buckle. Naruto sucks in a breath and pulls his hands away, guiding them up to his ribs instead, exhaling in a nervous laugh. 

“I think you’re drunk,” he says, rubbing Sasuke’s arm lightly, “I think you’re too drunk. Can I take you home?” 

“Home like-” Sasuke clenches his teeth and reaches up to cover his eyes, grimacing, “Home like, home with you?” 

Naruto makes a soft, amused sound. “No. That would feel like taking advantage of you. Maybe- uh, maybe next time, if you want there to be a next time.” 

Sasuke rolls onto his back and slides down Naruto’s body. He rests his head on Naruto’s thigh, smiling to himself when the blonde jerks again, slips his strong hands beneath his hair and holds him in place. 

“Are you drunk?” he asks. 

“No, I’m not,” Naruto replies, clearly a bit bemused. 

“But I’m drunk.”

“You are. You’re very drunk.” 

“Would you kiss me if I wasn’t?” 

“I-” Naruto licks his lips. He leans forward slightly and presses his lips against Sasuke’s forehead very, very gently. Sasuke’s eyes fly open. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs against his forehead, “I would. I’d kiss you all over.”

“But I’m drunk.” 

“You’re drunk, Sasuke,” Naruto confirms. He pulls Sasuke’s hair out of his face and kisses the bridge of his nose. “You’re drunk, but you’re very, very beautiful.” 

On the train ride back to his house, Sasuke falls asleep with his head on Naruto’s shoulder. Naruto holds his shoulders to keep him upright, and Sasuke grips his hands so tightly that his knuckles go white. 

At the door, Madara is waiting to receive him, looking more tired than anything else. His dark hair is held back at the nape of his neck, and he’s wearing a pale, pink bathrobe. With his hair back, he looks remarkably like Sasuke. 

He slips his arm around his nephew’s waist and smiles lightly at Naruto, who feels a bit like he might melt beneath the man’s gaze. 

“Thank you,” Madara says plainly. Naruto nods in acknowledgement and turns to leave- but Sasuke lunges forward out of Madara’s grip and seizes his shoulder. He doesn’t hesitate as he closes the space between their mouths. 

Over Sasuke’s shoulder, Naruto watches Madara’s eyes go wide, and he can’t help but to smile against his lips. He pushes on his chest lightly and kisses him very quickly on the cheek, passing him back to Madara as if he were a cat dangling from his shoulders. 

“Next time,” Naruto says softly, “I promise. As long as you aren’t drunk.” 

“Inshallah, he won’t be,” Madara huffs, gripping Sasuke’s waist protectively. He stretches his leg out to pull the door shut, and gives Naruto another, deeply appreciative smile. 

“I’ll take good care of him. Sometimes I don’t, but for you, I will.” 

“Got it,” Naruto says, “I’m sorry I let him get so drunk.”

“He’s going to act like an ass either way. I’d rather he do it with somebody like you.” 

When Naruto disappears into the city again, he does it with a smile that’s still kiss-warmed and strangely triumphant. 


End file.
